North Country
by katyfriday
Summary: Set immediately after the events of The Scarlet Pimpernel. Inspired by wondering where Sir Percy's considerable estates in the North are and what might happen if Marguerite and Percy head north for a second honeymoon after their reconciliation...
1. Journey's end

**Author's note:** My previous story _After Calais_ is really a prologue to this, but the two don't need to be read together. Its rating is due to a later chapter (_Moonlight_). My thanks, as ever, to Baroness Orczy for her wonderful characters - I hope I am treating them well. And my deepest gratitude to Sarah for her unfailing patience, good advice and enthusiasm.

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"Sir Percy owned considerable property in the North..." _Chapter 17: Farewell

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WHEN Percy had suggested they should get away from Richmond for a few days, she had not known what to expect. They had been travelling northward now for two days - Marguerite was glad they were nearing the end of the journey and she would be able to relax with her husband.

She smiled to herself at the thought of how much her happiness was now inextricably linked to his dear presence, when such a short time ago she barely noticed whether he was there or not - except to attempt to sharpen her wits against his imperturbable good nature.

Despite spending so long confined and cramped in a coach the hours had passed swiftly. The time taken hadn't mattered to her as she felt as though she were travelling on a wave of contentment.

Sometimes she and Percy had shared the carriage, and she had been reminded of the old days of their Paris courtship, when they had wandered for hours; happy just to be together with no need for words.

At other times Percy had ridden alongside, dressed, as always, with flair, in a rich cloth coat, ruffles and high top boots. She loved to watch him as he controlled the high spirits of his eager mount - she was so used to seeing him as the society fop, that she thrilled to see his energy and confidence dealing with the thoroughbreds he rode.

Her mind had sped back to other occasions when she had seen him riding, or driving. All of those silent night drives to Richmond when she had admired his skills with the ribbons - never dreaming that his expertise was just one tiny facet of the man she was beginning to know.

This journey had been so different - still silent, for he was a quiet man - but full of promise. They had shared more than words: a warm look, a tender glance meant more than words ever could.

She had also spent hours in rapt attention of the glorious mantle which Mother Nature had thrown over the countryside through which they were travelling: the rich and gorgeous hues of autumn just suited her recently rediscovered _joie de vivre_.

The beauties of the English landscape in this part of the country were new to her and she had enjoyed comparing them to her homeland and the southern English counties with which she was familiar. Marguerite felt as if all the world was in tune with her happiness.

But now they had almost arrived and she felt a sudden tension as the carriage drew to a halt at a slight incline in the road. Her attention was arrested at the sight which met her eyes.

An imposing building, made from the mellow, faded stone of the area, it sprawled across the landscape as though it had grown there, rather than been built in the traditional fashion.

It was not elegant, like the luxurious Richmond home she shared with Percy, but it had an indefinable charm which drew her. It sat so comfortably in its surroundings, like an aged lady, who has grown old gracefully safe in the knowledge she will always be beautiful to those that love her.

Marguerite smiled. She had been feeling a little nervous of this first visit to Percy's northern estates, but the grandeur of her view had left her almost breathless. She glanced at Percy, sat next to her on the box-seat: he had decided to drive himself for this final, short stage of the journey and now he was looking at her, waiting for her reaction to the home of his forebears. He seemed slightly on edge, and Marguerite, now super-sensitive to his moods, was quick to offer praise.

"_C'est très magnifique_," she breathed, in awe. The vast scale of the hall and the parklands surrounding it had taken her aback. She wondered why Percy did not come here more often as it was such a wonderful setting for all the sports he enjoyed so. She glanced at him again, and saw the faint rigidity fade from his face.

"Welcome to Welbourne, Lady Blakeney," he said. Then, gathering the reins together again, he started the carriage along the roadway and the magnificent hall was lost from view; once more shrouded by woodland.


	2. Duty bound

THERE was a sudden buzz of activity in the cool, lofty entrance hall as anyone who had the slightest excuse made their way to the front door. The lower regions of the house had been a hive of activity ever since they had received the message that Sir Percy was on his way - and that he would be bringing his wife with him.

Now their carriage had been sighted in the grounds and word had spread among the servants like wildfire. The flimsiest of pretexts would do to ensure a place on the front steps when they arrived. Everyone wanted to get the first glimpse of the exotic French actress Sir Percy had married.

Frank, Sir Percy's valet, sighed. He had been besieged with questions ever since he had arrived a few hours ahead of Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney. It wasn't his place - or his style - to fuel the backstairs gossip about his employers, but that hadn't stopped the flow of chit-chat as he went from room to room checking all the last minute details.

And although he could quell a pert housemaid or the younger footmen with no more than a glance, it was harder to prevent a quizzing from those you used to polish the family silverware with. But Jack hadn't been quite so obvious as Mrs Roberts, he thought reflectively. He'd forgotten just how inquisitive that woman could be.

Well, on this visit there would be time to reminisce about old times anyway. Not that Sir Percy had confided all his plans to his valet, but Frank knew him well enough after all these years to know he wouldn't be bringing his pretty, young wife to the family home for the first time if he wasn't planning to stay for at least a week.

Frank looked around at the majesty of the great entrance hall. With its huge vaulted ceiling and beautifully painted cornices it was rightly held to be one of the architectural gems of the country. He had once been so familiar with every stone, every carving in this place - but he had not been back for aught saving a few fleeting business trips with Sir Percy for many a long year.

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As housekeeper Mrs Roberts had not had such a test of her mettle for some time, and she was looking forward to the challenge. She looked back with fondness on the days when Sir Algernon had brought his new bride to Welbourne. What a happy couple they had been; she stifled a sentimental sigh as she reminisced. Perhaps the bustle and excitement of those times was about to return.

She gave a final twitch to her dress and rapidly scanned the staff to ensure that there was not a hair out of place, while she continued to wonder what had brought Sir Percy here now with his wife in tow. Her face did not betray her thoughts for an instant: it was one thing to attempt to get a few facts from Frank who saw Sir Percy every day, but she would never allow her dignity to lapse so that the junior staff were witness to her curiosity.

Not that Frank had been very forthcoming she mused reflectively - but then he never had been much of a talker, even in his younger days.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the thud of hoofbeats and the crunch of carriage-wheels on the driveway; one final check of the staff reassured her they would not disgrace her, as she turned to greet Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney.

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Marguerite's nerves returned as the carriage drew to a halt at the foot of an impressive flight of steps; if the house had seemed benign from a distance, close up it appeared to loom over her, making her feel small and insignificant.

It was a spectacular structure; the main part of the building had two rows of large windows, finished with pilasters at either end. Another storey then rose from the centre of the main house, rather like the top tier of a wedding cake, complete with turrets on all four corners. A profusion of scrollwork, carvings and parapets gave it the look of a colossal piece of confectionary.

Wondering what whim had created such a unique house, Marguerite found herself being handed out of the carriage by her husband and confronted by an array of household staff. She gracefully acknowledged their greeting and allowed Percy to led her up the steps and into the vast entrance hall, hoping that with him by her side the house would take on a more congenial atmosphere.

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The servants began to disperse to all corners of the Hall as Mrs Roberts followed Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney inside. She bobbed a respectful curtsey to Sir Percy and said:

"Mr Jenkins has already arrived, sir. He's waiting in the study."

"Thank you, Mrs Roberts"

Marguerite felt abandoned as he kissed her hand and performed an elaborate, leave-taking bow, before disappearing through one of the other archways.

Mrs Roberts began to wonder whether Sir Percy's French wife spoke any English: she was stunningly beautiful, with her dramatic colouring of auburn hair and pale skin, but she seemed stiff, silent and distant. She did not seem to have any of the natural charm which had made Sir Percy's mother such a favourite here.

"My lady...?" she ventured, "Could I show you to your room?"

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Marguerite was so tired. She was delighted that the formalities of the day were finally over and she and Percy would be able to sink back into their own blissful idyll without interruption. She reclined on the large, comfortable sofa she occupied and dreamily watched her husband.

She had barely seen him since their arrival earlier that day. He had to deal with business and had been closeted with the estate manager and bailiff for most of the day. The cares of the estate seemed to have taken their toll on him and he was looking weary: the first time she had ever seen him show signs of real fatigue; aside from that fateful night outside Calais.

His attitude reflected the way she felt. After having a little time to refresh herself from the journey, she had been conducted on a lengthy tour of the house by the formidable Mrs Roberts. She had rather forcibly put Marguerite in mind of one of the nuns at the convent. Her tall figure, encased in a severe black dress, had glided around the corridors with a decided air of proprietorship.

All this was new to her; the routines and patterns of a country house, and she was looking forward to at last spending some time with Percy, instead of feigning interest in the endless jars in the still room.

She had not wanted to see the house alone, with a stranger. She had hoped that Percy would be able to take her through the rooms and corridors and introduce her to the beautiful old house.

Instead she had been taken on the formal tour by the housekeeper. But despite her unyielding appearance and abrupt manner, Marguerite had glimpsed a genuine love for Welbourne beneath Mrs Roberts' exacting exterior and found herself warming to her. She had probably ruled the place with a rod of iron for years and was worried that a new mistress would upset all her carefully constructed arrangements.

Marguerite, still flushed with her new-found love, was extremely sensitive to the moods of others. Having spent much of the afternoon with Mrs Roberts she sensed that the housekeeper was more than just a domestic tyrant ensuring the house was kept in order - she seemed to really care for those in her charge, as well as the Hall itself. She would have plenty of time to find out more about the housekeeper as they were due to stay for several days.

In the library she continued to study Percy. They had met at dinner time but the servants had been in and out all the time, leaving no time for private conversation. They had kept to formal, polite subjects until they could be alone.

Now it was just the two of them and still he said nothing. His attention was instead somewhere far away as he stood with one arm leaning on the mantel-shelf, one booted foot resting on the surround. Almost as though he could feel her gaze his focus suddenly came back into the room and he turned to smile at her.

"What do you think of the house, m'dear?" he said.

"Percy, don't. Don't shut me out now. Are you thinking about going to France again?" she queried. On seeing that distant look in his eyes her thoughts had automatically turned to his alter-ego, the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"Odds fish, m'dear, it is your homeland. Do you never wish to return?"

"That is not what I meant at all - are you planning another trip with the League? Please, Percy, tell me."

"My dearest," he said, losing his lighthearted tone and moving from the fireside to sit near her on the sofa. "You would be the first person I would tell if I had any such plans. I cannot keep a secret from you now."

His eyes took in the anxiety on her face and gently his hand caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, satisfied that he was safe - for now.


	3. Echoes

A RIPPLE of music had kept Marguerite spellbound on the sofa. She was passionately fond of music and it was a delightful surprise to hear Percy play - the soft tones of the piano creating a soothing atmosphere in the library. He had begun to play almost absentmindedly, but he now seemed lost in the music.

The strains of the instrument blended perfectly with the gentle crackle of logs in the fire and the pools of light created by the candelabra around the room. Woodsmoke, hot wax and the distinctive smell of old books mixed together providing a cosy, comforting aroma as the shadows lengthened.

Percy was by no means a brilliant pianist, but he played with feeling; perhaps he had been taught as part of his unconventional upbringing. There was so much about him that she still didn't know, but as each new aspect of his personality was revealed to her she felt as though she fell in love with him a little more.

She wanted to share her happiness with him and to see, once again, that look of intensity glow from his eyes. As she struggled to find the right words she realised the only sound in the room was the crackle and shift of logs in the grate.

As she looked at Percy his hands moved over the keys once more and he began a simple, wistful melody. But just a few notes in his fingers seemed to lock and the tune was lost. Once more the music ceased. Marguerite was shocked by the look on Percy's face. He sat with his eyes closed, yet there were visible lines of strain on his brow.

Moving the short distance to the piano stool she laid one of her small hands over his fingers, which still rested on the keys. As she touched him her anxiety grew at the coldness of his skin.

Sinking down to her knees at his side, she clasped the fingers of his right hand between her two warm hands, and whispered: "Percy, what is wrong?"

"I cannot play that melody," he said, flatly.

She was puzzled. "But it seems so simple in comparison to some of the pieces you played. I don't understand."

"I'm sorry, _mon coeur_. I thought that with you here it would be different. But I still cannot do it. My mother used to play it."

Marguerite's thoughts flew to the portrait she had seen in his study, not many days since. She had been struck then at the strong resemblance between mother and son; why had it not occurred to her then that this would extend to more than looks? He had obviously inherited a love of music from her, but the memories of her made it difficult for him to play this particular, evocative piece.

She also recalled his slight constraint when they had arrived: perhaps this whole house echoed with memories of his beloved mother, snatched away from him so tragically. Just as she had been adjusting to his strength, now she found herself faced with his vulnerability.

She knew what it was to lose your parents at a young age - and her heart went out to the boy whose mother had been cruelly taken: first by illness, then by death. At least she had been able to rely on Armand, as they raised one another in place of their parents. Percy would have had no-one as his father, at first distracted by grief, had eventually succumbed to his broken heart.

Knowing that words would never fill the void left, she lifted a hand and gently touched his face. Feeling her unspoken empathy he responded by stroking her hair, touched with golden lights in places by the candles.

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Gently he moved away from her and picked up the discarded shawl she had brought into the library earlier. He had a sudden need for fresh air, and the feeling of freedom he only experienced out of doors.

Wordlessly he led Marguerite from the library along the dimly-lit hallway to the south door. He stopped briefly and arranged the wrap carefully around her shoulders, before taking her hand and leading her down the shallow stone steps along the formal terrace and down a further, wider flight of stone stairs. Still silently, her hand in his, they walked along the shores of the lake.

It was a beautiful October evening, lit by stars which were reflected in the inky surface of the water; and by a bright moon, which gilded the windows and the elaborate carvings on the Hall with a silvery sheen.

He loved the night air - whether sleeping under the stars in France or driving his team of bays home to Richmond - and he loved the way his wife looked: her regal figure bathed in moonlight, her beautiful features highlighted with an iridescent glow. He breathed in and felt himself lose some of the tension which had been with him since they had arrived at Welbourne.

The lake was a huge stretch of water with a small summerhouse on one of the banks. During the day it would be humming with life as Mother Nature continued her busy cycle, but now, in the gloom of the evening, it was hushed and peaceful.

Seated on one of the ornamental stone benches around the lake Marguerite looked up at her husband. He had a commanding appearance as he stood looking out across the silvery water, moonlight shining on the pale tones of his fair hair.

It was a fascinating night, with remnants of the day's warmth still lingering in the dips and hollows of the landscape, and the cool night air felt soothing against her face. She did not completely understand what had triggered this new mood in him, and she felt as though his personality was somehow shifting in front of her eyes. Each time she learned something new about him she thought she was prepared for surprises: after discovering his foppish behaviour hid the keen mind of the daring Scarlet Pimpernel she had thought his character revealed to her. But now she was realising that there was so much more to this complex man she had married.

Then - as though the words were dragged from somewhere deep inside him - he began to speak in a low voice. Haltingly, at first, he told her about his mother. Of how his parents had first met, how theirs had been a love-match frowned on by both families.

He told her how his father had brought his mother here as a bride, more than thirty years ago. How he had remodelled the reception rooms and modernised the Hall. How he had made sure the finest piano was brought here for her as she loved music so much. They had been so happy, for two short years.

Encouraged by her wordless empathy he told her of his childhood, blighted by the disease which had stolen his mother from him. He sat by her on the bench, and she waited silently; her eyes fixed on his profile as he confided in her. He had so few happy memories of his mother - she had been well enough at times to pick out melodies on the piano, or remember snatches of a song. But these times became fewer as Percy grew older. They had travelled a great deal: to see a new doctor, to try a new cure, or to avoid the stares.

Percy had only been to Welbourne briefly, accompanying his father when he returned on business. On one visit he had found a piano, shrouded in holland covers, and, having nothing to occupy himself with he had started to play tentatively. But before he had managed many notes, he had been caught, and silenced.

Frank, then a young under-footman, had heard the music from the entrance hall and, abandoning his post, had hastened to stop it: in accordance with the master's orders. On seeing the small, fair boy perched on the piano stool, he had not known how to explain; instead he had offered to teach the youngster how to catch a fish from the lake.

On future visits Percy had sought out Frank, who was slowly rising through the ranks; and when he was old enough to require a valet and wanted someone he could trust, Frank had been the obvious choice. Frank, born and raised on the Welbourne estate, was eager to see more of the world and hadn't needed to think twice.

Since then, Percy had only been back when forced to by business needs. And he had deliberately kept those visits rare and brief, unwilling to face the memories which lingered here.


	4. Moonlight

AS his voice died away the complete quiet of the gardens enveloped them once again. She had not taken her eyes from his face as he had been speaking and, as he fell silent, she continued to watch him. She saw his eyes lift from vague contemplation of his loosely clasped hands to gaze into the darkness.

Marguerite's heart was overflowing with tenderness for him, and the lonely child he had been. A part of her was also stirred at the thought that this was proof, as if she needed it, that he truly trusted her, had forgiven her for her betrayal. She moved nearer to him and put her arms around him, holding him.

As if his mind had been relieved of a burden, Percy sighed, and rested his head on her shoulder. He took a deep breath, and felt the remains of his tension trickle away into the darkness which surrounded them.

Only a moment ago he had been drained of all emotion but with each breath he inhaled her intoxicating fragrance, and he felt more alive. Every particle of his being was brought into tingling, vital awareness by her very presence.

Pulling away from her slightly, he stood, drawing her up with him. His eyes drank in her beauty, rendered more exquisite than ever in the moonlight. Gently he caressed her cheek with his hand. Her eyes closed and she lifted her face in mute invitation.

Slowly, they drifted together and their lips met in the briefest of kisses. As he moved away from her a fraction he felt her image at this moment would live with him forever. He was engulfed by his feelings for her; with Marguerite one kiss would never be enough.

His fingertips traced along her delicate collar bones, and she took a sharp breath in at the contrast between the dry heat of his touch and the cool night air. Languorously she looked up at him and saw an expression of intense passion in his eyes.

As their eyes locked, his faint touch changed: he used the back of his hand now, and the knuckles of his left hand softly followed an invisible line along her porcelain skin where it met the embroidered edge of her shimmering gown.

She felt as though wherever he touched her, he left a trail of fire and she yearned for him to come closer, to take her in his arms again. But still that slow movement of his hand went on as he held her gaze. A rosy flush suffused her exposed skin and she felt as though her legs would no longer be able to hold her.

Then he caught her to him and their lips met in a long and maddening kiss. They fell apart, both slightly breathless. Marguerite reached out with an unsteady hand and smoothed a stray strand of blond hair which had fallen across her husband's brow.

Recalled to their surroundings by a breath of wind which stirred the wrap around her shoulders, she glanced back at the Hall, before looking to Percy. His usually sleepy blue eyes were alight with passion as he gazed back at her from under heavy lids. But seeing her concern his lips curled into a crooked half-smile.

"Shall we return to the house, m'dear?" he murmured, as he gently readjusted her shawl to protect her from the breeze. It was exactly the same courtesy he had performed earlier, but now wherever his fingertips brushed her skin seemed to burn. Needing to be closer to him, but unable to trust herself to speak, she nodded and turned towards the Hall.

The velvety night air surrounded them with a comforting darkness as they walked slowly back to the house, not hand in hand this time, just close enough for Percy to feel the silken rustle of her skirts across his hand as she moved. When they entered the dimly lit house, Marguerite avoided her husband's eyes - she felt if she looked into the depths of his gaze now she would surely melt and be unable to walk any farther.

She made it to the half-landing before turning back to him.

"Percy?"

She whispered his name and the sound of her voice broke the silent, heated tension which had been building up between them. She found herself caught by the hand and hastened into her bedroom.

The heavy brocade drapes had been left open and the moonlight streamed into the large room. It lent a subtle gloss to the solid old furniture which seemed to have been here since the house was built.

After shutting the door behind them Percy had stopped dead at the sight of Marguerite, once more cloaked in the silvery sheen of the moon. His breath caught in his throat - her beauty, her strength, her trust, her love - they were his.

He moved towards her and took her gently into his arms - the passion from the lakeside was still there, but it was burning slowly now. Fuelling the flames once more he began to trace delicate patterns across her exposed skin. Marguerite sighed with contentment at his touch, and reached out for him.

Her fingers slid beneath the rough material of his coat, and she could feel the warmth from his body. She pushed the heavy cloth coat away from his shoulders, he shrugged it off, and it fell, unheeded, to the floor. The shawl which he had wrapped around her with such care earlier swiftly followed it to the ground. Layers of satin, linen and lace whispered down to the carpet, creating a cloud of subtle, shimmering fabric around them.

Insistently her hands moved to the nape of his neck, urging his head down to her uplifted face: their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss. Marguerite felt the fire which had been lit in tingling trails across her sensitive skin was now burning through her whole being. She could feel his fingers working through her hair, the soft sounds of combs and pins falling to the carpet were all that broke the stillness of the night, until it cascaded around her in deep copper waves. As she reached up to caress his face, Percy swung her up into his arms and lifted her tenderly on to the huge, old bed.

Her pale skin seemed to be lit from within, clad now in just her light shift, she appeared to him to glow against the backdrop of the deep greens and golds of the bed linen. The only touches of colour were the ardent stream of her hair and the deep blue of her inviting eyes. Percy, too, was naked save for his shirt, which he quickly pulled over his head before he moved back towards her on the bed. Marguerite found herself languidly admiring the strength of his figure - clad now only in a sheen of perspiration.

She ran her hands across the breadth of his shoulders, down his back, to his narrow hips. Needing to be closer to him she removed the loose linen shift, and with it out of the way Percy ran a line of kisses from her collarbone, over the swell of her breasts and across the curve of her stomach.

Just as she thought she couldn't stand this delicate torture any more he moved over her and their mouths met, energy surging between them. Her hands once more glided over the smooth, silken skin of his back, and down to his hips, urging him to her. Every curve and hollow of their bodies fit as though designed to be one.

As they moved together, the rhythm of their bodies quickened. Marguerite felt the ecstasy build until it overtook her in an explosion which reached every nerve in her body, and, as she cried out, she felt Percy shudder and tense as he, too, was caught in the wave of passion which swept over them both.


	5. Awakenings

MARGUERITE awoke slowly, stretching luxuriously in the large, comfortable bed. Bright sunlight poured in through the windows as her maid pulled back the weighty curtains. Shielding her eyes from the sudden glare, Marguerite realised what was wrong - there was too much room in the spacious bed.

She had quickly grown used to having him by her side when she woke, to feel his warmth in the middle of the night, to be able to reach out and touch him. Now, instead of the six-foot odd of her husband, she had a cold and empty bed.

Louise had turned and bobbed a curtsey in her direction. "Would you like some breakfast, my lady?" she asked.

"Yes," Marguerite thought for a moment, "Just some chocolate and some fruit, please."

As the woman turned to leave the room, known as the Queen's Bedchamber in token of the time a distant Blakeney once hosted a visit from Elizabeth I, Marguerite called her back.

"Stay, Louise," she paused, "Has Sir Percy left any message this morning?"

"No, my lady. Will there be anything else, my lady?"

"No, thank you." She sank back on to the pillows, a little disappointed.

Her thoughts drifted as she gazed out of the window at the attractive parkland stretching for acres around the Hall. She wondered where he could have gone, and why he had not woken her before he left. More estate business, perhaps, she thought gloomily. She couldn't stand another stiff, formal day like yesterday, creeping around the house with one of the servants.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone at the door. Thinking it must be her breakfast arriving she sat up, propped some pillows behind her and waited expectantly.

The door swung inwards, and she was greeted by her husband's lazy drawling tones.

"Good morning, m'dear," he said, as he deposited the tray on her lap and a kiss on her lips.

He sat on the edge of the bed as she began to sip at her chocolate; waiting for an explanation she peered at him over the rim of her cup. He was dressed in the severely-cut riding habit that became his massive figure so well, which answered her question about what he had been doing.

His face was alight with laughter in the way she had come to love and she wondered what had amused him so.

"You are wondering why I left you without a word this morning," he said, divining her feelings accurately. He loved this growing feeling of intimacy, the feeling that he could almost read her thoughts. Despite being a tolerably good judge of character, he had never felt so in tune with another person before, and was relishing new-found sensations of possessiveness, belonging, and even the sense of vulnerability that they brought.

Her slight look of annoyance at having been caught out told him his venture had been correct.

"I had some business which had to be done at the lodge and I hoped to have it arranged and be back before you woke up," he explained. "I have the rest of today planned, so I had to go out early."

Not attempting to hide her disappointment, Marguerite frowned, and determined to at least leave the house today - she couldn't bear the idea of further domesticity with the housekeeper.

"Which of the carriages can I take out? I'm not staying indoors on a glorious day like this," she said, with an air of defiance. "Do I have to take a groom if I stay on the estate?"

She would show him that she was independent and self-sufficient: she didn't have to wait around for him to be finished with his interminable business dealings. She had lived a full and interesting life before she met him and she did not need him beside her to be happy. She caught herself up on that last thought - who was she trying to convince; herself or her husband?

Realising his teasing had gone a little too far for the newly-formed bond which they had been creating between them, Percy took the tray away and gently grasped both her hands.

"Darling Margot - you won't need a groom at all. My plans are to spend the day with you, and unless you have something to complain of in my driving ability..."

She turned from her contemplation of the bedpost to Percy and saw the wicked gleam in his eyes. Aware of how quick she had been to assume the worst, she hunched a shoulder, and said, slightly petulantly:

"Well... that all depends on what plans you have in mind."

His smile broadened at her _volte-face_, as he said:

"I thought, a picnic..."

Looking out of the windows at the trees being blown by a brisk breeze and clouds scudding across the sky, Marguerite eyed her husband dismissively.

"What have you really planned?"

"Do you doubt me? Meet me on the roof in an hour and I will show you - did the redoubtable Mrs Roberts show you the staircase yesterday?"

She nodded and smiled; his enthusiasm was infectious.


	6. Rooftop rendezvous

AS Marguerite reached the top of the spiral stairs she paused to take in the magnificent view from the tower window. A dramatic panorama spread out before her eyes: much of the landscape was still a vivid green, but it was smudged with the deep reds and amber hues of the gathering autumn.

She made her way out of the tower doorway tentatively but, finding the breeze had dropped considerably since this morning, she grew bolder and went to the edge of the parapets to look over. The formal gardens of the south terrace looked stunning from this viewpoint and she could have spend much longer in contemplation of them, but she was impatient to find Percy.

Exploring further along the southern section she came across a tiny turret-like room, built out from the side of the house walls. Curiosity drew her closer and she peered through the windows which encircled the round room wondering whatever it could be used for. As she looked she saw that it housed seats and a table of appropriately diminutive proportions, which had been spread with the makings of a delicious-looking picnic.

Remembering Percy's mischievous plans earlier, she smiled and wondered why he was not here waiting for her. Deciding not to sit and wait for him, she set off around the square walkway, admiring the views across the unspoilt countryside.

From here she could see that the house had been built in perfect symmetry from all angles, everything on one side had its exact counterpart on the other: the tiny look-out room must have been a later addition as it did not seem to fit into the design.

Thinking this over, Marguerite felt as though something was out of place. A half-formed thought nagged at her: what about the staircase? Mrs Roberts had only shown her one which reached the roof, and she was sure Percy had only mentioned one set of stairs. But surely if everything else came in pairs, so must they.

Impulsively she made for the far tower to see what was there, and with a small cry of triumph she pounced on the door handle. Forgetting all about the picnic and the view; heedless to all except her discovery she stepped into the half-light of the tower.

The place had obviously not been used for years, there were huge cobwebs and layers of thick, choking dust over everything. It looked as though a few boxes had been dumped here and then the whole place forgotten about. Holding her gown up in an attempt to protect it from the filth, Marguerite craned around the boxes to see whether her hunch had been correct and there were stairs behind them.

Seeing the head of the staircase she was thrilled at her detective-work, but also perplexed: why had no-one mentioned them, and where did they lead to in the house? Making her way gingerly, using the faint light filtering in through grimy windows set high in the walls as a guide, she set forth to find out.

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Great, grey stones had always indicated home to him. Wherever in the world he was the sight of solid stonework would turn his thoughts to this place. He had thought himself so familiar with the building and the people, this had always been home: but now returning after so many years he felt almost like a stranger.

He had been given no time to think about it when he had first arrived - there had been so much to arrange, so many details to attend to. But now he had a few moments of leisure these feelings of being a guest surfaced.

He looked around at the stone walls of the room and took in the trappings of the well-equipped chamber; this was just one of the many changes which he found himself experiencing. Before he would never have been invited in here, seated at the highly-polished table and given a glass of Madeira. Not the best vintage in the cellars he knew, but even so, he felt somewhat honoured.

This had always been known as Mr Trent's Room, and it seemed to him that it hadn't changed much over the years. There had been brief visits in the past, to deliver a message or be given an order and Frank remembered the heavy oak furniture well.

The only thing that had definitely changed was the room's occupant. Frank looked at him and took in the comfortable proportions of the waistcoat and touches of grey around the temples, which marked the passing of the years.

He lifted his glass and toasted his old friend on his success, before grinning and saying:

"Jack Cartwright, butler. Who'd have thought it?"

He had known of the appointment being made when old Mr Trent had been pensioned off, but this was the first chance he had had to congratulate Jack in person. He looked a lot more like the Jack he remembered now, relaxing in his shirtsleeves in the privacy of his room. When he had been greeting Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney he had looked every inch the starchy, dignified retainer that Mr Trent had. He wondered if Jack inspired the kind of terror in the younger footmen that Mr Trent used to.

Jack retaliated in kind, feigning disbelief that Frank had managed to stay employed as a valet all these years. The years fell away and they slipped into the bantering camaraderie they had always shared. Neither was over talkative, or particularly demonstrative, but they had been friends for as long as they could remember and didn't need to tell each other how pleased they were with the other's success.

The talk turned to the previous master and mistress and their love of Welbourne. Frank was relieved - Jack's interest in Sir Percy's lifestyle had been tricky to steer through. He did not want to tell deliberate untruths to his friend; but he felt he needed to keep more of a guard on his tongue with Jack than he did with most folk. He had maintained Sir Percy's anonymity in the face of all kinds of questions and had no intentions of blurting out his secret now.

"It's grand to see the old rooftop room being used by the young master," said Jack, with the sublime disregard for Sir Percy's almost 30 years that came from having been with the family since before he was born. "Do you think now he's married he'll spend more time here, like his mother and father did?"

"I doubt it. He's too busy in London - he's always at some gathering. Often with the Prince of Wales."

After some chaffing of his friend for the exalted company he must now be keeping, Jack returned to the subject.

"'Twould be good for the place to have master and mistress back in residence. Sir Algernon and her ladyship loved the Hall. 'Tis quite like old times - they used to spend hours up on the roof - do you remember?"

"I do. And how you used to shirk going up all those stairs given half a chance. I see old habits die hard, especially now you've got younger legs to order about."

Frank accompanied his remark with an expressive gesture at Jack's increased waistline.

Before the two men could continue their old, familiar routine of friendly abuse there was a timid knock at the door, as though whoever was there didn't really want to be heard. Jack called: "Come in," in stentorian accents, and a slip of a girl opened the door a crack and slid in through the narrow aperture before bobbing a nervous curtsey.


	7. A mysterious box

FREED from yet another domestic tangle Percy took the spiral stairs two at a time; half eager to see her, half concerned about Marguerite's reaction. After all, he had said an hour. On reaching the viewing room he was prepared for a barrage of heated French thrown at his head; but all was silent.

He looked inside; she was not there. His gaze flicked around the roof tops, and he walked to the eastern corner to scan the further walkways. Was she playing some trick on him to pay him back for teasing her earlier? But there was nowhere to hide up here; all the walkways were empty.

She must have grown tired of waiting for him and decided to return to the house. He headed back down the stairs to find her, to apologise.

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Disappointed, Marguerite found herself at the foot of the stairs with nowhere to go. The walls around her seemed impenetrable, and there was not enough light down here to look for a hidden door. Feeling deflated, she decided to make her way back up the stairs to the rooftop. She laughed to herself as she imagined Percy's reaction; he probably thought she was deliberately keeping him waiting.

As she drew nearer to the top her foot knocked against something which had been pushed to one side of the stairs: in her excitement to find out where the stairs led she had not noticed anything on the way down. She crouched on the step trying to distinguish a shape in the gloom of the stairwell. Her fumbling fingers finally came into contact with a small, flat metal box.

She picked it up and hurried up the remaining few stairs to discover more about her find in daylight. But as she did so her foot caught in her gown, which she had dropped as she sought for the box, and, as she missed a step, she felt her ankle give way beneath her. Struggling to maintain her hold on the mysterious box Marguerite found herself slipping down several stairs and jarring her whole frame against the hard stone wall.

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His annoyance rising, Percy felt things were now beyond a joke: he had checked all the rooms she was likely to be in and even asked her maid where she was. He was still no closer to finding his wife. However upset she had been there was no need to leave the house in a miff.

Deciding he did not want witnesses to their likely quarrel he set out for the stables himself, to see if she had reverted to her original idea of taking a drive about the grounds.

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Feeling slightly sick from the sudden pain Marguerite thought that trying to move would not be a wise idea and instead tried to occupy her mind by exploring the cause of the accident. Surprised to find that the box did not have a lock she lifted the lid to find bundles of letters neatly tied together with ribbon and a few small, but well-worn books.

She felt wary of invading someone's privacy by reading their letters, so instead turned to the books. Picking one at random she opened it to read on the flyleaf: Eleanor Brooke, Moorfield, 1759. Curiously, Marguerite turned the pages, her attention caught by one:

_"My dearest Arthur has gone. My thoughts and prayers follow him across the ocean to North America. How I wish he had not his commission with the 15th. He has promised to write and give me all the details of the strange new places he visits - but I would much rather he were here by my side. He has never been posted so far away as he is now, he has always been able to visit even if only briefly. I shall miss him so much while he is on the other side of the world. At least I have the comfort that he bears me no ill-will for my decision. He is relishing the chance of being part of something, and laughed at my fears for him. Would that Mama was of the same mind, she has not constrained me to marry JW, but I can feel her disappointment. It lays heavily on my soul. I do not wish to be an undutiful daughter, but I cannot marry a man simply for worldly advantage - whether it be for myself or my brother."_

Wondering, Marguerite looked through the other books and found they were all full of the same feminine handwriting. Each was inscribed with a date, although some only bore the initials EB interwoven rather than Miss Brooke's full name. Turning back to the first book, she flicked through the pages again to find a later entry:

_"My heart was in my mouth today when I saw General W in the Assembly Rooms. I have not seen him for several months, and had thought myself inured to any chance meeting. I had just been introduced to a gentleman, and something of what I felt must have shown itself on my face, much to my mortification, as he asked me what was wrong. Perhaps I should have been more circumspect, but he had such an air of dependability about him that I confided I would rather not meet the man I had just seen entering the room. He was so delightful - he took me for some refreshment immediately. And later, when the General had me locked in conversation, he rescued me in the neatest way by claiming a prior engagement with me for the dance which was just about to start."_

Marguerite's mind was in a whirl, who was Eleanor Brooke? And why were her journals and letters kept at Welbourne on a staircase? Finding it harder to read by the dim light in the stairwell and feeling that she had pried into Eleanor's life quite enough for now, Marguerite decided she would have to try to make her own way back to the rooftop and share her find with Percy.

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A bell trilled out, just loud enough to be heard above the clatter of pots and hum of activity in the busy, bustling kitchen. It even caused a lull in the constant grumble of dissatisfaction coming from the chef - he was temperamental where his art was concerned and poor time-keeping which ruined his beautifully laid plans for dinner was a pet-hate.

This even extended to his employers. That bell undoubtedly meant the meal in that ridiculous rooftop room could finally be cleared, which didn't fit into his plans at all well. Throwing up his hands in a gesture of despair he turned back to survey his work, before continuing his muttering.

As the newest and youngest member of staff Mary was the one sent up the lengthy flights of stairs to find out why the bell had been rung. Nervously she scuttered along the chilly stone corridors, wondering anew at the maze-like layout of the house. It had taken her weeks to feel as though she knew her way around the vast Hall and she was still unsure of her place within the rigid structure of the servants. Her early nerves had returned full force when she had been told the master was coming here - she was terrified of doing the wrong thing and being dismissed: her family depended on the wages she was earning.

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Marguerite had been so relieved when she had seen the bell pull in the viewing room. After her painful journey up the last few stairs and across the rooftop walkways she was in desperate need of a rest and some food.

She had forced herself to move up the last few steps and had then needed to negotiate the boxes which had been abandoned at the head of the staircase. Her swollen ankle could not bear her weight and her progress across the rooftop walkway had been slow and arduous.

She wondered where Percy was - she had no idea how long she had been stuck in the staircase but she could see from how far the sun had shifted across the sky that it was several hours since they had been due to meet for a cosy picnic. What if he had asked the servants to look for her when she was not at the appointed meeting place? Would they be whispering about her, wondering where she had gone? Wondering why she had not met her husband?

Hearing footsteps outside she assumed an aplomb she was far from feeling and tried to glance casually at the maid who was even then bobbing a curtsey in the doorway.

"Yes, m'm?"

"Could you ask Sir Percy to join me here, at his earliest convenience?"

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Thus it was that Sir Percy, striding in from a fruitless search of the grounds, his annoyance now shot through with anxiety, was met with the news his wife would like to see him.

"As soon as would be convenient, sir," said the maid.

Mary nervously ducked another curtsey as she took in the expression on his face. She had been all over the house looking for Sir Percy and had finally had to pluck up the courage to ask Frank where he was. Thankfully, she had not needed to head towards the stables to find Sir Percy as she saw him crossing the great entrance hall just after she left his valet in Mr Cartwright's Room.

Percy noticed the girl's agitation and smiled at her, thanked her for the message, and sent her back to the lower regions of the Hall. He set off once more for the spiral staircase, the rooftop room and his wife.


	8. Misunderstanding

AGAIN in an effort to distract her mind from the pain in her ankle and her bruises Marguerite had turned her attention to the metal box. She had been determined not to leave it behind in the stairwell and she was glad of it as it proved a welcome diversion. Flicking idly through another of the journals, dated a year later, her eyes caught a name she recognised:

_"My heart is torn. How can I bear such extremes? I can hardly bring myself to write it - we have just received word that Arthur has been killed. It was such a brief note, enough to tell us he fought valiantly against the French but was seriously wounded during the battle. He died a few hours later. I feel I am to blame for this - if I had been able to bring myself to wed that man last year perhaps my dearest brother would never have been so far away as Quebec. My grief is edged with bitterness toward myself. And yet, in the midst of my despair, I have also been able to be happy, if such a paradox is possible. Sir Algernon has been most kind - from the first I felt he had an air of dependability about him, and the intervening months have not dimmed that view. His company at dances and gatherings have made many of them bearable while I was in disgrace with Mama. And now he wishes to make me the happiest woman in England, but I cannot think of weddings at present. He came to see Mama yesterday and I was so joyous for such a brief time - despite her disapproval of him she has given her consent. I think she despaired of me ever making a suitable match, after what happened last year. But since that awful message came I do not know what will happen."_

The knowledge came to Marguerite in a rush - these journals must belong to Percy's mother. She snapped the book shut swiftly. As she did so a shadow was cast across the doorway and she looked up to see her husband casting a quizzical glance at her.

"Percy!" she gasped, feeling in some way that she had been caught out. How could she tell him about this now? After his revelations the previous evening he might think she was deliberately trying to upset his already raw emotions. She did not want to disturb the fragile understanding which was being built up between them, but neither did she want to keep a secret, and such a secret, from him.

As Percy looked at his wife he could almost see her guard going up, she had not seemed particularly pleased to see him either. She had been somewhat surprised, which considering she had sent for him was strange. He noted she was pleating the silky fabric of her skirts and saw the almost imperceptible look of nervousness which she threw in his direction.

He thought it all behind them: the half-truths, secrecy and estrangement. He had felt last night he had found someone he could trust and confide in - and those feelings were still so new, so raw he found it hard to rely on them. Perhaps now in the light of day she had changed her mind, maybe that was why she had disappeared for a few hours, to find a way to tell him it had all been a mistake.

Crossing his ankles and leaning against the door-arch he assumed an outward appearance of nonchalance.

"My lady. It is a little later than I had anticipated us meeting."

She shivered inwardly at his tone, he had slipped into the cold, drawling voice she had come to detest during those first unhappy months of their marriage. Determined to bridge over the gulf which seemed to be opening between them yet again, she began to babble, explaining about her adventures on the rooftops.

"I'm sorry, Percy, if you wondered where I was, but really I couldn't help it. I was trapped by my wretched ankle."

"Trapped? Where?"

"On the staircase."

"On the staircase?" he echoed her words, puzzled, his tone softening, "But I came up here to meet you and you were nowhere to be found. I would have seen you on the stairs had you sprained your ankle."

"Not those stairs, the other stairs, over there," she said, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the further corner.

He now wondered whether she had sustained more than an injury to her ankle. But her blue eyes were fixed on him steadily and she did not appear as if about to swoon away. He also took in the dust and cobwebs on her skirts.

Moving into the room he sat down near her and his voice took on a warmer tone than the rather glacial one he had used earlier.

"I'm sorry, m'dear, you'll have to explain. What other stairs? There is only the one flight which comes up to the roof."

"I know."

"Well, if you know that, what do you mean by saying the other stairs?"

"Because there _is_ another flight of stairs - but it doesn't start on the first floor. It starts here, but it doesn't go all the way down."

Nonplussed, Percy looked at his wife. She pointed him in the right direction and said:

"Go and look for yourself. I would show you myself, but I cannot walk across there on this ankle again."

"But what about you, how are you feeling now?" His anxiety had resurfaced as he could see darker shadows smudged under her eyes and a look of tension from the pain.

"I will be perfectly all right here for a little longer - you can help me back down when you return."

Her heart warmed by the tender concern he had shown her she gave him a wan smile.


	9. The search

ONCE again Marguerite had found herself swept up into her husband's powerful arms as he had carried her carefully down the spiral stairs to her nearby bedchamber. She had thankfully laid her head to rest against his broad shoulder and been glad to relinquish the mystery of the other set of stairs into his capable hands.

When he had returned to her in the tiny rooftop room he had been overflowing with curiosity as to how the stairs had ever come to be built - why would a house need stairs which didn't lead anywhere? And how had they remained undiscovered for so long? But he had put his interest on one side and tended to her injuries with loving, gentle hands.

In the excitement of exploring the staircase and then his concern for her he had not evinced any interest in the small metal box which she had persisted on keeping with her. She was glad of this reprieve. She was enjoying watching him as she imagined he behaved with the League - his keen mind evaluating the situation and planning his next move - and had no wish to disrupt his thoughts by bringing up the emotional subject of his mother.

Percy put the last touch to the linen he had been wrapping around Marguerite's swollen ankle and gently placed her small foot on to a stool. As he moved to get up from his kneeling position by her chair he was prevented from rising by her outstretched hand.

"You are not leaving me here?"

"But, dear heart, your ankle - you need to rest."

"I have had hours to rest in that wretched staircase and whilst I waited for you. I do not need further rest now. Anyway - who found the staircase? If you are going to find the foot of it, I am coming too."

Their eyes met and held. Percy was unused to have anyone question him. He had been his own master for so long and he was used to a position of command - the members of the League had sworn unwavering obedience and kept to their word. He saw by the determined set of Marguerite's jaw that his wife meant what she said.

A sudden smile illuminated his face - they were partners in this too, as they now were in all aspects of their life. He had not known when he first began to venerate the beautiful Mademoiselle St Just the depths of courage, strength and fortitude which lay hidden behind her delightful society manners. She rose to every challenge with an indomitable will to succeed.

"Wait here one moment, my dear."

Before Marguerite had time to say a word he had vanished through the door. Hampered somewhat by the bandaging swaddled around her injured ankle she found it difficult to move from the comfortable chair in which she was seated.

Just as she was rising - grasping one arm of the chair for support - he reappeared in the doorway, as suddenly as he had gone. But now, smiling broadly and with an air of triumph, he was brandishing a cane.

She met his twinkling eyes and her mouth curled into an answering smile. Then, the humour of the situation overcame her and she fell back into the chair, giggling.

Pretending to be affronted by her reaction, Percy loomed over her in the chair, demanding to know the reason for her mirth. But his eyes gave him away as they were brimful of laughter. Marguerite felt her breath catch as she gazed into the depths of his blue eyes; she would always cherish moments like this when they were both so happy. She felt they had many months of unhappiness to make up for and she would zealously guard these precious, joyous occasions in her heart forever.

Becoming business-like Percy outlined his idea to search around the north landing on on the first floor. As the south stair came out at the corresponding place on the other side of the house, it seemed the most logical place to start. Marguerite was in complete agreement and so they set off around the corridors.

The cane was not needed for now as Marguerite had found much the best way for travelling around the house was in the safe and strong arms of her husband.

The landing on this side of the house was covered in a classically-themed mural as with all of the walls of the northern stairwell. Marguerite had noticed the beautiful artwork on her tour yesterday, but had not been given the opportunity to study the paintings further. And now the smiling cherubs and mythical creatures gambolling across the walls could not hold her attention as she was only interested in what might lay behind them.

She leaned on the bannister, and was glad of the extra support from Percy's cane, as she divided her attention between scanning the painting for clues, and watching Percy's face as he studied the mural. She didn't see how a doorway could be in that wall - the huge mural stretched from floor to ceiling and was surrounded by an enormous ornate frame.

Percy obviously felt the same as he dived through into the nearest room - an old store room - and began scanning the walls in there. Marguerite hobbled over to join him and saw that this room was lined with ancient looking panelling, which was common in many of the first floor rooms. But there were no noticeable edges to show where a doorway could be hidden and no useful carvings which could be used to open any hidden doorway.

Wearier than she had cared to admit, and still with her conscience troubled by keeping the journals from Percy, she didn't mind admitting defeat. Her ankle had begun to throb unpleasantly too.

Her husband, however, did not seem to recognise the word "failure" and stood back from the wall, weighing up the situation and working through all the possibilities.

"Margot - would you stand here and watch the wall? I'm going back on to the landing for a moment."

From her vantage point in the doorway she could keep an eye on the wall - why, she could not conjecture - and also on Percy. His slender, sensitive hands were now running over the right hand side of the elaborate frame. He breathed a sigh of satisfaction as his fingers connected with a piece of frame which gave way, and, as he did so, Marguerite heard a gentle grating noise as a section of the panelling slid smoothly back and sideways leaving only a gaping void.


	10. Secrets

MARGUERITE'S face wore a look of stunned disbelief - she had almost convinced herself that they would not really find anything. The hush which fell after the grinding of the secret entrance ceased was broken by a loud peal of merry laughter. Percy, amused by her consternation, had moved to stand beside her in the doorway and now began to gently propel her towards the hole in the wall.

A dank, stale smell assailed Marguerite's nostrils as they moved nearer to the gap and she was suddenly afraid for the first time of what they might find. What could have been hidden in these walls for so many years without being discovered? Who had left it there?

She gripped Percy's arm and stopped short of the dark - and now forbidding - opening. She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, expecting to see the same fears reflected on his face. But Percy, habitually unruffled and at this moment every inch the bold adventurer, just looked eager to see what secret was about to be revealed.

As her fingers dug into his arm, he paused and seemed bemused by her sudden halt.

"What is it, m'dear? Is your ankle paining you?"

"No, no. It's not that. Percy, what do you think is in there?" She made a gesture towards the gap in the panelling, but kept her eyes fixed on his face. She did not know why this unaccountable fear had overcome her, and she wanted to see if he was affected by similar worries.

"I've no idea - that is why I propose we take a look. You don't need to worry about the dark, I came prepared."

He took a short candlestick from a capacious pocket and stood it on a nearby bracket. As he was about to fish for further paraphernalia, she grasped his hand. Once they were facing one another Percy saw the genuine fear in her eyes. He smiled reassuringly, and took both her hands in his.

"There is no need to be afraid. There is nothing harmful in there, I promise you. I will go in and take a look, while you stay here. It will only take a few moments."

But before he could move to light the candle, Marguerite had changed her mind. Just seconds ago she felt as though nothing would induce her to go into that blank, gaping space, but neither did she wish to be left alone out here while Percy went to explore on his own.

Lifting her chin and looking Percy straight in the eye she announced her intention of accompanying him into the mysterious opening. It had been her discovery, after all.

He smiled, delighted, and took her hand, before stepping over the threshold into the musty, fetid chamber which had been hidden behind the panelling for so long. But their task was immediately hindered as there was only very limited light from the fading day reaching through the doorway of the store room.

The leaping, looming shadows created by the feeble flicker of the candlelight did little to dispel Marguerite's fears as they made the darkness seem somehow alive. Percy held the flame high above his head in order to illuminate the further reaches of the chamber. Weird shapes wavered and danced in the gloom.

Percy reached out a long arm past Marguerite and his fingers came into contact with cold stone. He passed the candlestick to her to enable him to use both hands to explore the inner walls of the chamber.

Gradually they made their way around the sides of the small chamber. The wall farthest from the doorway was lined with great stone shelves, but they were innocent of any relics from a bygone age. There was not much to the third wall as this was where the stairs began, and they could just see grey light filtering through from the lowest slit window.

"Nothing," said Percy, "How frustrating. A hidden chamber devoid of some sinister secret is most disappointing. I shall return when there is better light in the morning, but I doubt there is anything to discover."

"It is very strange," Marguerite agreed, aware of the secret she had yet to reveal to him. Concealing the contents of the box from him had been the decision of the moment, but the longer she kept it from him the heavier it lay upon her conscience.

Now, as she waited for him in the store room as he took the candle to explore the stairs from a different direction, she wondered when would be the right moment to tell him. There was never going to be a perfect time for such a revelation - Percy had loved his mother deeply and her death had left its mark on his carefree, buoyant personality. He had been left with little but faint, childhood memories. Apart from the beautiful portrait which graced his study at Blakeney Manor he had no keepsakes. Marguerite felt unsure as to how he would react to her find.

His appearance in the gap in the panelling put an abrupt halt to her train of thought.

"Dinner, m'dear? Faith, you must be famished after your adventures across the rooftops today."

"I am a little hungry," she confessed, pushing the whole question of the box and its contents to the back of her mind for now.

Together they set the store room to rights, making sure the panelled entrance was safely closed, before heading to their rooms to change for their evening meal.


	11. Family ties

RISING from the dining table Marguerite made her excuses to Percy. She had decided that she could no longer keep the letters and journals from her husband. They had belonged to his mother and it was only right that he be given them. However, she was almost thwarted by his chivalry.

"You cannot walk unaided, let me help you," he rose with her and moved towards the door.

"No, no, I'll be all right. I just need to go to my room for something. I'll meet you in the library in a few minutes."

"I'll go for you - or send one of the servants. Your ankle is not in a fit state for you to be walking about unnecessarily."

"My ankle will be fine. I will be careful. There is no point anyone else going, they won't be able to find it," and she slipped out of the door before he could stop her. Hoping he would not follow her - she wanted time to gather her thoughts together to find the best way to tell him about the contents of the box - she made her way as quickly as she could to her room where she had left the precious item.

Percy had looked after her for a few moments and then slowly made his way to the library. She obviously meant what she said about not wanting any help and he could see she had been agitated at the thought of being accompanied. He would just have to wait for her to return and try to prevent her from any further activity which could upset her injured ankle.

When Marguerite entered the library her husband was leaning his powerful shoulders against the mantel, with his slender hands buried in his pockets. He looked calm and carefree, and she felt her heart lurch at the idea of shattering his tranquility. She steeled herself for the task ahead and smiled across the room to him.

She made her way carefully to the sofa near the fireside, using the cane to support her damaged ankle. In her other hand, hidden by her skirts, she clutched the metal box she had found earlier in the day. She sat down and with a gesture of relief she threw the cane to the floor by the sofa.

"_Dieu!_ I feel like a decrepit dowager having to use that thing to hobble about on. How nice it is to be able to sit comfortably. Why don't you join me?"

Percy returned her smile, glad to see her short trip had not caused her any problems. He moved to the sofa and repositioned a footstool, tenderly lifting her injured foot to rest upon it, before composing his long limbs in a relaxed fashion beside her.

"No more walking about for you, m'dear. Not until your injury has completely healed."

"Mmm."

She seemed to reply almost absentmindedly. Then she shifted slightly on the sofa so that she was facing him. She took one of his hands and kept her eyes lowered to their interlaced fingers as she said:

"Percy?"

She raised her eyes and saw that he too had been looking down at their joined hands. But as she looked at him his eyes lifted and he smiled down into her troubled gaze.

"What is it, m'dear?"

"Percy, it's about the staircase."

"Are you concerned about it? There's no need. It's perfectly safe. And I shall look through the papers in the muniment room tomorrow to find some clue as to why it was built. It's extraordinary that it has not been in use all these years."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. It has been used by someone."

"Really? How do you know?"

"I - I found something. Before I fell."

"What was it? We shall have to go back there in the morning and take a look at it."

"There's no need for that. I have it here."

Percy raised an eyebrow questioningly. Her fingers flexed nervously in his clasp. Now that the moment had come she did not know what to say to him. She could not think of a way to break it to him gently. She cast around in her mind for the words which would help her to tell him about her find.

"You know that I found the staircase earlier when I looked in the tower room?"

He nodded his assent.

"Well, I explored to the very foot of the stairs, as you know, and I found nothing. It was too dark to look for anything, so I returned to the rooftop, to meet you and tell you about it."

Percy sat quietly, allowing her to tell the story without pressing her for details of the mysterious object she had found. Undoubtedly she was trying to suppress her excitement about whatever it was and she would reveal it when she was ready.

Marguerite had paused. She could not put it off any longer. She was going to have to hand over that box and it's contents and allow Percy to make his own mind up about the letters and journals. The words tumbled out now, as though the quicker she told him the easier the blow would be when it fell.

"I was nearly at the top of the stairs when I found it. Perhaps I was not attending so carefully as I had been on the way down. My foot struck against something and when I bent to pick it up, that's when I lost my footing and fell. But I kept hold of what I found."

Loosening her hand from his she once more grasped the metal box which contained the hopes and dreams of Percy's mother, and gently, almost reverently, she laid it in his hands.

✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻

The dark, cold metal of the box contrasted sharply with the slender whiteness of Percy's hands as he turned the object over and over. It had a most unprepossessing exterior, but he had seen from the way Marguerite had spoken that there was more to it than met the eye.

He glanced up from his scrutiny of the box to look at his wife; her face held a contradictory mix of both relief and tension. Her gaze was fixed on him so that she was able to catch every expression of his countenance, and as their eyes met she smiled at him, a little nervously.

Percy turned his attention back to the mysterious box and lifted the lid. On seeing the bundles of letters tied together with faded ribbon and the series of small, well-worn journals he looked up at Marguerite once more, this time with an unspoken question.

She nodded.

"I read some of the pages. Not the letters, I left those. But as soon as I realised what it was I had stumbled across I placed them back in the box."

Carefully Percy lifted out one of the journals and looked at the flyleaf. Marguerite saw him note the name inscribed inside the book and thought she saw him grow a shade paler. There were no words which could help at this moment - she could do nothing but sit by and watch him.

Methodically Percy examined each of the books in turn, leaving the letters behind in the box. He set the box to one side and laid the journals on a nearby table. Then, quietly, he picked up the earliest chronologically and began to read.

Marguerite could see no signs that he was distressed or moved by what he saw on the page. His hands, with fine, filmy lace falling over the fingers, were steady and to all outward appearances he could have been reading the latest edition of _The Morning Post_ instead of his mother's most personal thoughts.

As she watched his calm she was supremely aware of her own nerves. She could feel each, distinct beat of her heart and the slight tremor in her hands - she quickly clasped them together and held them in her lap. There was a hush in the cosy library now which she was loth to break. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the crackle of paper as Percy turned the leaves of his mother's journals.

She did not know which years they spanned, or where the entries she had read were placed in the set, so she had no way of telling what he might be reading about. Marguerite was unsure whether to be pleased at his ongoing silence; it could signify so many things. It was so recently that she had learned how well he could disguise his true personality, and she was now gaining first-hand experience of his talent for keeping his emotions hidden.

He seemed lost in the journal, never raising his eyes from the book, just steadily skimming through the pages. She did not want to disturb him, but she wanted to be of comfort to him should he need it. Noiselessly, she rose from the sofa and took a couple of limping steps to a nearby ottoman to collect a volume of poetry she had left there. Her movement broke Percy's concentration and he glanced up to ascertain what she was doing.

Seeing her return almost immediately to the couch he smiled at her in a somewhat abstracted fashion before burying himself once more in the journal he was reading. Reassured by the warmth of his look, Marguerite felt the tautness leave her frame as she sank thankfully back on to the comfortable sofa beside him.

Her attention was not completely held by the work of M Molière and she found herself studying her husband from beneath her lashes rather than taking in the _bonhomie_ of the poet.

The clock on the mantel marked the passing minutes as the time dragged slowly by for Marguerite. Percy had been completely absorbed in the journals, exchanging one for another when he finished reading. Now, more than an hour after he first picked up the box, as she looked at him once more, he raised his head from the book and met her eyes.

She thought his face looked faintly strained despite the smile he directed at her when their eyes met. She returned his smile, and waited watchfully.

He laid the book he had been holding to one side and turning in her direction he drew her towards him. As she moved closer to him he placed a tender kiss on her forehead before wrapping his arms around her, whispering:

"Thank you."


	12. A member of the League

LIT BY late autumn sunshine, they had been halcyon days; spent discovering and exploring new things about each other. They had driven around the estate, where Marguerite had her first glimpse of the delightful deer park; when her injury had completely healed they had walked together through the woodlands; and Percy had attempted to teach her how to drive a pair of horses.

He had spoken little of his mother save for that first night, but since the discovery of the journals he had seemed to lose the tension which visiting the Hall usually caused him. Despite his comparative silence, he had shared the journals and letters with Marguerite and she had been keen to find out more about his parents.

Eleanor's journals began when she was a carefree girl on the brink of womanhood - living for the letters and visits of her beloved brother. Her life had been trammelled by the rules and expectations of her parents, and she had never felt the need to question their judgement until it came to the issue of marriage.

Her chance meeting in a ballroom with the debonair Sir Algernon had set the seal on this stance. The early months of their marriage had been marred only by her grief at the death of her brother. But in spite of this tragedy they had been supremely happy together. Sir Algernon had transformed her life from one of unchanging duty to one where she was the centre of his world.

The journals petered out not many months after Eleanor's motherhood; she had been so overjoyed at presenting her husband with an heir and she had adored her tiny son.

The letters in the box were obviously those that had been important to Eleanor. A few - stilted and formal - were from her mother. There were others from her brother sent from his various posts around the world: merry, insouciant letters which told of the high hopes and ideals he had held.

And there were several addressed to _My Darling Nell_, from Sir Algernon, written during the brief occasions they were apart from one another during their marriage. They were letters filled with tenderness and love.

Marguerite, touched by the confidence Percy had shown in her, had told him more about her own childhood, growing up with her dearest Armand. She talked to him of her life before Paris, before she became the darling of the National Theatre, before he had swept her off to England.

Sharing their thoughts and feelings had bound them closely together - neither had ever been able to confide in someone else so completely. And as their trust in one another grew, so did their love for one another. It was as though they had each found a missing part of their soul in the other.

Her artistic temperament revelled in his adventurous spirit, and as she learned more of his work in her own country her respect for him grew, too. He always told the tales with an air of self-depreciation, describing more of his outrageous costumes than his brave deeds. She knew how much he risked each time he tried to save another innocent life; and with that knowledge came fear.

These few days had been a blissful idyll, but her unease was growing as she felt their love had in no way quenched his thirst for adventure.

Where once she had been ignorant and indifferent to the risks he ran, now she would have to stand by and show a smiling face to the watching world, while his precious life hung in the balance.

There was no question in her mind that he would return to France - his whole attitude when he spoke of the work of the League was one of pride. No question, either, of asking him to stay - as she would put on a brave face to the world, so would she put on a brave face to him, so that his whole mind could be concentrated on whatever tortuous scheme he next undertook.

Her mind made up, she turned from her contemplation of the flickering flames and regarded her husband. In a rare moment of complete relaxation, he had been watching her, seeing the thoughts chase one another across her face. The most brilliant actress in France had put her trust in this Englishman, and no longer hid her feelings from him behind a mask of indifference.

He loved to watch her expressive face, and as she lifted her eyes to his, he noted the look of firm determination.

"La, m'dear, I fear I'm far too fatigued for any task you may have in mind."

She smiled, his lazy drawl did not fool her for an instant; and for what felt like the hundredth time since her discovery she thought admiringly of how he had kept his secret so well.

"Percy," she said, abruptly, not wanting to let the moment pass. "You said all the League have sworn an oath to you."

"Mmm." His heavy lids had lowered, hiding his blue eyes.

Wanting his whole attention she moved to sit on a small footstool by his winged armchair.

"Percy, do be serious for a moment," she pleaded, clasping one of his slender hands.

Opening his eyes and seeing her earnest gaze, he bit back the witty retort he had been about to make - which would have been more fitting to a soirée with his friend the Prince of Wales than an evening in the country with his wife.

"I want to swear this oath, too," she continued.

His attention fully caught by this, he sat up and leaned forward to look deeply into her eyes. He gathered both her hands into his clasp and was momentarily distracted by the play of the firelight shimmering over her delicate fingers. He raised one of her hands and kissed her fingertips gently - a formal gesture of courtesy which was imbued with passion as she felt the burning heat of his lips against her cool skin.

But she would not be gainsaid. The notion that he may not return from the next visit to France had her in its grip; she wanted to play her part in his noble work with the League, even if it was impossible for her to travel by his side and face the dangers with him.

Realising that Marguerite would not be distracted from her request, he sighed softly and gave her a rueful smile.

"My darling, we have already sworn an oath to one another. I know it is almost a year ago, but you surely have not forgotten?"

"Don't tease, Percy," she said. "That is different. I want to be a part of the League too. I can help. And I want to be a member on the same terms as all of the others."

"But I don't need an oath from you - I trust you with my life, and I have already been more than repaid by your devotion. You will be able to help with some of the League's work without that."

The lines of her face hardened and set, enhancing the air of strength on her beautiful features.

Percy recalled her recent journey over to Calais and swiftly made a decision. He had been raised to believe woman were delicate creatures in need of shelter and support, but his wife was teaching him that they could also be strong, independent and resourceful - surely a welcome addition to the League.

"Very well." It was all he said, but it was enough. Her face became softer and she gripped his hands, eager to show she would be loyal and true as any of the English gentlemen already enrolled under his banner.

"I swear to be obedient to you in all matters," she announced. Seeing the humorous glint return to Percy's eyes, she finished quickly: "... relating to the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

Laughing, Percy stood up to his full height, drawing her to her feet as he did so. "O, for an obedient wife," he murmured, before leaning down and kissing her.

❦ Fin ❧


End file.
